


Safe Haven

by geegeegeemoneyz



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geegeegeemoneyz/pseuds/geegeegeemoneyz
Summary: The Batman Family shattered and in disarray. Suffering time after time at the hands of the new Batman, Tim has no one else to turn to and no where else to go when he needs to escape, except to an old rival and new friend.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Lonnie Machin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Safe Haven

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Before you read on, here's an important warning. Although it is entirely implied and in no way shown or depicted, there is reference to Tim being abused but Jean-Paul. Specifically I had CSA in mind, but the ambiguity of it is for not only my comfort but for the comfort of readers. If this is sensitive content for you, please take care when reading this! I can assure you the immediate harm done to Tim is not as much of a focus as the way his body and brain try to cope with it. Mainly depicted through dissociation.
> 
> Obviously canon has to be a little bent, but this does take place during Knightfall story line, specifically during Knightquest. I also haven't read those comics in a long time, so excuse any mistakes in terms of any canon that is referenced.
> 
> Also, the title is a reference to a song on the Va11 Hall-A OST! I listened to the soundtrack when writing most of this. I don't think that track sets the mood, but check it out.

It had become a routine.

\---

Gotham’s fate was unknown to itself and its inhabitants, but the first disaster of many had struck. The Bat’s back had been broken, leaving the city in a state of disarray. The world may as well have been falling apart, but many were also none the wiser to the situation. To replace the Dark Knight was an Angel of Death from the Order of St. Dumas, a choice questioned but ultimately unable to be rejected. It was Bruce’s decree, before he left to recover wherever he decided to go.

Quickly, Jean-Paul’s actions drove the already shattered family apart. Alfred wanted nothing to do with him quickly, Dick took to focusing on working with Barbara and in Blüdhaven more than in Gotham, and Tim felt threatened and uncomfortable with Valley’s harsh and brutal tactics.

Regardless of it all, Tim still felt like he had an obligation. To be around the Manor, to keep and eye on Valley. The young hero had his world pulled out from under him like a rug, left falling into what was an abyss of dread and fear. For the second time in his life, he felt as if his home became one of isolation and anxiety. Jean-Paul had no mercies for him, no cares. The more he stepped out of line, the more aware Tim was that he understood that he could do whatever he wanted and be able to get away with it. Robin was powerless against him.

He feared the horrors that Valley enacted comfortably. The young hero could only look away and avoid it so much, especially when certain horrors were done against him. To him. Tim questioned the world, the universe, himself; why did it have to happen to him? Against him? What had he done to deserve the harms he witnessed? 

He knew how to handle his father’s offenses against him, but what Jean-Paul unleashed onto him made Jack Drake look like the perfect man. There was no freedom, no peace. Tim never thought of himself as the type to cry easily, but somehow it had become a natural state of being for him. Painful, humiliating, but above all silent. He questioned himself daily and nightly, as to why he didn’t reach out to Dick, or Babs, or  _ anyone _ . The answer was one he dare not utter, but knew in his heart. Again and again, the adults in his life let him down. He just did not want to expose his team to this.

\---

Respite came in the form of Lonnie Machin. In the form of Anarky.

He didn’t know when it started, or why, or how, but the teen vigilante, about a year or so older than him, who escaped juvenile detention centers time after time, was the one person he could hide away with. Lonnie understood, somehow, without Tim having to even say anything. He had met Valley only once, but that was enough for Lonnie to know immediately why Tim had come to him.

\---

Unknown to Tim was how he found himself at one of Anarky’s secret hideouts in Gotham the first time. Perhaps it would be revealed to him at another date or perhaps not, but the fact of the matter was that it was Anarky who picked him up and brought him there. The rightfully radicalized hero of the people found Robin astray and wandering, barely focusing and clearly hurt in some way. He had swooped in, fully costumed despite the looming threat of the new Batman, and rescued Robin from what could’ve been his own demise. His worry grew for the teen he mentally labelled his rival, as he was bringing him to safety. Immediately Robin went limp in his arms. Anarky couldn’t remember if he always weighed this little, or if his work outs were just paying off, or if it was both. While thankful that the other teen didn’t struggle, it was too alarming that he wasn’t struggling.

Making quick work of back alleys, Anarky brought Robin to the nearest hideout, immediately doing whatever medical checks he could do with his limited equipment. Lonnie’s working assumption was that Tim had been drugged, and his behavior only seemed to justify that. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure if there even was a way for him to check that or not. He had neglected keeping up to date medical technology, mostly because he didn’t personally need it. A  _ stranger _ had left all the necessary tools to synthesize common anti-venoms and antidotes to all sorts of poisons and gasses that Gotham super villains used. 

Which was helpful, and Anarky had an inkling that it was a certain Robin who did drop it off. But in this situation, when he couldn’t even discern what was making Tim act this way, all that knowledge and information was of no use.

“Tim,” Lonnie’s hands gently cupped Tim’s face, trying to get him to focus. His eyes darted around occasionally, but couldn’t focus on anything. He appeared completely dazed. “I need you to try to focus, what happ--”

“Lonnie?” Suddenly, Tim was lucid. He blinked, focusing on the red hair and piercing green-blue eyes. “I...what...” He made an attempt to stand, but instead pitched forward, immediately passing out as he fell into Lonnie’s arms.

Unsure of what had happened, Lonnie did the first thing he could think of. Lay Tim down somewhere comfortable and observe him. Or, that was the plan. He was able to lay Tim on the simple floor mattress, after double and triple checking that he was just asleep. Admittedly, Lonnie was concerned with how quiet Tim was as he slept, getting up from his work station every ten or so minutes to check. But as he got used to it, deeper into the night and into early morning, he worked through all his daily activities, losing Tim to forum posts and monitoring Gotham and searching for local community groups he could visit. When he next felt the urge to check for his rival’s body, it was 6 am, and he was gone.

\---

Tim was unsure of what drove him to Lonnie’s window again and again. But here he was, again. It was automatic, as he crawled in. Immediately, welcome arms pulled him in, shutting the window behind him and pulling the blinds down.

His hands clutched at the taller boy’s arms, letting himself be pulled in. It was in a haze, one day early into this unofficial arrangement, that he had confessed the sins of Jean-Paul Valley against him to Lonnie. A day he wouldn’t remember until he could finally start healing from this period in his life.

It was from that day Lonnie stopped asking and simply came to accept his new role in Tim’s life. It was a role he’d never reject in the first place. Valley’s actions made his blood boil, the same way the inhumanity and corruption of those in power made his blood boil. The same way seeing the daily failures of a system that never was meant to benefit its citizens made his blood boil.

Lonnie was unsure why it was so personal, but he didn’t question it. He did what he had to do. What he wanted to do. What he owed Tim.

Tim was thankful for it. Even through the fog and the haze that his brain defaulted to as a way of keeping himself safe and protected, he understood what Lonnie was doing for him was something he’d be grateful for for the rest of his life.

He stumbled forward, his usual Robin-like grace gone. Lonnie compensated for it, keeping Tim steady on his feet. He had half a mind to carry Tim, but knew to avoid contact that was so encompassing, and restricting of Tim’s agency over himself. Instead, he simply led him with a hand on his back and on his shoulder. 

Tim seemed to prefer the sofa to any type of bed, so that’s where they headed. Lonnie noted to himself how aware Tim seemed to be. It was a skill he acquired after many nights of bringing him into the safety of his hideout. His eyes weren’t darting all over the place, his breathing was more normal than shallow, he managed to not go limp as soon as Lonnie had touched him.

Today was a pretty good day, then, but Lonnie still kept a close eye. More than once now, he’d seen the change happen at the drop of a hat. It could go any which way. Complete dissociation from reality in a silent way, like an animal trapped by fear as a car with it’s hi-beams on came rushing at it, or absolute loss of self in tears and screaming and fear and fear and fear.

Tim watched as Lonnie headed for the coffee machine he kept around, thankful that he even had one here. He knew that Lonnie pulled all nighters the same as he did, relying on energy drinks and caffeine to keep going. He noted the small dish of wrapped sour candies, remembering one of the first times he hung out in Lonnie out of uniform. The anarchist had convinced him to try to actually get to  _ know  _ him before he had him arrested and brought back to the detention hall. It was then that Lonnie dared him to eat the sour candy, a challenge he couldn’t back away from, but one that he regretted deeply. Tim had also learned that he hated sour candy, and couldn’t keep his face from puckering up and twisting when it hit his tongue.

Before Tim knew it, a mug of hot coffee was placed down in front of him. Black, how he preferred it. It grounded him, when he was able to drink it without shaking hands spilling it all over himself. He recalled a conversation with Lonnie, during a morning he stayed. Lonnie apparently found it absolutely baffling that Tim could drink strong, bitter, black coffee. Apparently, Lonnie could only drink it with cream and sugar and anything to disguise the taste of it. It was then that Tim dared him to drink a whole cup of black coffee, straight without pausing. Knowing the trap he’d fall into if he said no, Lonnie did it, regretting it the whole time and slamming the mug down, wincing as he swallowed the last of it. Tim’s revenge was exacted, and Lonnie would never dare Tim to do anything again.

He sipped at his coffee, as Lonnie went back to work at his many computer screens. He stared at the wall, until he couldn’t remember old conversations or scenes anymore, slipping into the dissociation he couldn’t fight against. Static slowly replaced his thoughts and his eyes turned to Lonnie’s computer setup.

He watched Lonnie be illuminated by the blue light, striking against his face and features. Maybe it was the strange pull that Tim felt when he looked at Lonnie that brought him here night after night. He knew that Lonnie wanted the best for people. That his methods were reckless, and dangerous due to his lack of experience and naivety, which is why he couldn’t go gallivanting around Gotham so freely. That’s what Batman had believed, at least. But if Tim couldn’t believe in Batman anymore, could he believe what he had taught him?

Last sip of his coffee taken, Tim left the mug on the low table, curling up on the couch. He listened to the clicking and clacking of Lonnie’s keyboard, and the faint noise of the traffic below. He let himself slip into sleep that was comfortable, safe.

It had become a routine to seek solace in the quiet company of Lonnie Machin. And it was a routine that kept him alive.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about Lonnie Machin and Tim Drake, thank you.


End file.
